#the others are out of state and private and not really good for the majors i want to go into

[a-passing-storm]

GUYSSS!!! I AM. SO TERRIFIED/EXCITED. SO.

One of the colleges that I applied to... apparently I can now view my Acceptance Decision in, like, the college portal! I told my mother that I would wait until she gets home, though, before I see what it is, but now I am in waiting mode!!! So severely!!!

It's to a school that is, like... technically it's a safety school, but it's kind of my second choice, but like... oh dear. Most likely I got accepted, but if I didn't get accepted, than I am a little fucked.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be. 

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no. 

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home. 

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication. 

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be. 

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that. 

But, all of that is easy. 

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong. 

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it. 

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else. 

Her standards must be so low. 

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. 

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity. 

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too. 

The company easily and quickly made its name  known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did. 

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness. 

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated. 

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl. 

A virgin. 

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for. 

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain. 

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this. 

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through. 

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened. 

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got. 

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side. 

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting. 

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately. 

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red. 

He steps forward. 

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.” 

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.” 

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?” 

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.” 

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!” 

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.” 

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!” 

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s  upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin.. 

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall. 

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son. 

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier. 

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men. 

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts. 

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first. 

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana. 

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now. 

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one. 

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.” 

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

Solana needs to get away. 

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him. 

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy. 

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana. 

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging. 

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving. 

Something healing almost. 

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.” 

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce. 

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples. 

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants. 

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that. 

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. 

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back. 

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.” 

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset. 

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is. 

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown. 

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?” 

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since. 

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while  he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. 

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included. 

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference. 

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing. 

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such. 

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time. 

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause. 

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family. 

Especially his kids. 

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them. 

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back  to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them. 

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.” 

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation. 

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings. 

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?” 

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.” 

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good. 

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more. 

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix. 

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more. 

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious. 

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer. 

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut. 

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again. 

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else. 

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..” 

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.” 

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?” 

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours. 

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically. 

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.” 

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him. 

“Wh—what?” 

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.” 

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….” 

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself. 

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment. 

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.” 

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right. 

And so was Solana. 

She’s not ready to come home. 

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs. 

And what she needs is continued professional help. 

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. 

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit. 

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason. 

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes. 

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say. 

Even if does feel the same way. 

So, he says nothing. 

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred. 

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence. 

But, it’s a necessary absence. 

Solana needs help. 

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child. 

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally. 

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health. 

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true. 

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention. 

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.” 

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process. 

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound. 

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles. 

Oh, revenge is so so sweet. 

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement. 

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done. 

Samantha won’t. 

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors. 

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

[yuikomorii]

// I’m making this post, as a result of seeing way too much hate and misinfo regarding every character. Nobody stops anyone from voicing their opinion but the need to degrade a character, while providing BAD reasons or stating incorrect/out-of-context facts about them only for the sake of internet validation, is such a loser move.

We’re all in this fandom to have fun and even if you have something negative to say about a character you don’t like, keep it to yourself or in private with your friends.

Ayato:

“I don’t like Ayato, he’s overrated”, omg you’re just sooo different! Definitely not like other girls/guys!

Everyone is allowed to dislike whatever they want but if Ayato is your least/one of your least favorite DL characters, then your opinion ISN’T valid. This is a franchise full of abusive characters and he’s literally the most heroic love interest. Why would you hate the hero…?

“He’s dumb and annoying”, says the person who spends their time insulting FICTIONAL characters. 1) Japanese fans like dumb characters, since they come off as endearing; 2) Ayato outdid everyone throughout the routes.

He did more good than all of his brothers and saying that X, Y or Z deserves the main role more, is fake fan behavior because at this point you’re just setting up your favs.

Kanato:

No, you’re not cool for calling him ugly. It’s okay if you’re not into that type of characters but his design is not bad at all.

“He had no development”, he does in CL. It’s not major but it can still be visible.

The whole Teddy thing might be annoying to some of you, but his fans get why he acts that way. Let’s not forget that he is a victim of neglect.

Yes, he was sexually exploited too. Don’t forget this x2.

Laito:

“I hate Laito so much, he was so cruel in HDB 😢”; stop living in the past and move on already.

His development shouldn’t be overlooked only because your opinion about him was formed on something that came out more than 10 years ago.

He’s still the most fascinating DL character and I get that he might make some of you feel uncomfortable but don’t project your triggers on a character that’s merely made after a trope.

Shu:

No, it’s not Shu’s fault for the way Reiji acted. Envy is never a good reason to hurt someone.

“Shu roasts the heroine the most!”, I get that it’s rude but his insults are actually funny?? A bunch of people will like him for being brutally honest or a jerk because it’s literally a game for players with masochistic fantasies. They WANT to be roasted by good-looking men. That’s the point.

“Shu is lazy and stupid, he’s the only one who failed his school year”, genuine question: If you were an immortal creature that doesn’t need food or sleep to survive, would you still care about grades? Besides, he’s really smart.

“Shu doesn’t care about Yuma, he just feels guilty”, in LE he sacrificed himself for him and reincarnated merely because he wished to meet Yuma again and get on well with him in another life—

Reiji:

“He hurt Shu and Yuma”, well yeah but he was shown plenty of times regretting it and trying to fix things. Stop reminding this to Reiji stans because that conflict is already closed.

“He is so mean in other routes”, obviously?? If you don’t teach him how to love, he won’t suddenly act nice towards anyone.

Without him Yui would fail her tests and the Sakamaki household would be in chaos.

Subaru:

“W-What do you mean baby Tsundere is not soft innocent virgin boy? 🥺”; he has never been like that, that’s how YOU perceived him. Stop acting so shocked every time Subaru does something bad because he’s still a vampire after all??

Also, why are so many people reducing his character to Kou and/or Yui—? He’s much more than that and has his own interests, struggles, likes, dislikes, and so on.

“He’s irrelevant”; Diabolik Lovers has 13 love interests, they can’t make everyone extremely important to the general plot. Just enjoy a character as it is, it’s not that hard.

Ruki:

The cat jokes were funny when the Meow Meow Vampire art came out but MOVE ON. I hate that scene and Ruki was in the wrong but come on now, that’s not even the worst thing he has done and MB happened in 2013.

I understand not liking Ruki as a person, because he’s mostly not a good one, but this doesn’t mean he’s not a good character.

“Ruki deserved what happened to him in the past because he was cruel towards everyone”; while I agree that Karma hit him, I wouldn’t say any child really deserves to go through that. He was just a spoiled brat, who most likely wasn’t taught by his parents about modesty or kindness.

Kou:

“He was so cruel in MB 😣”, and HE HAD DEVELOPMENT! He’s not the same anymore, nobody is.

“He overreacts”, sometimes he’s not in the wrong and has all rights to be angry.

Kou isn’t afraid of going against Ruki, even if he’s the brother he admires the most, as long as he knows that what Ruki is doing isn’t good.

Yuma:

“He beat Yui up in the MB bad ending!😡😡”, it’s a bad ending for a reason, lol.

Pretty reminder that Yuma always tries to help others with Kou and Azusa, and was even willing to save the ghouls in LE.

“Yuma doesn’t care about Shu”, did we play the same game or…?

Azusa:

“Azusa is so horrible, he threw Teddy in the fire!”; and he only did it to save Yui, it was not intentional.

While not all his actions are good, keep in mind that he never means any harm and is overall such a sweet guy.

“He is too clingy”; I know that might not be everyone’s cup of tea but is it really worth hating a character just for wanting affection?

The Tsukinamis and Kino:

“They were too easy to defeat in DF!”; Dark Fate wasn’t entirely about them to begin with. Most routes focused on the boys’ internal struggles with their trauma and how to move past it.

“Kino is sometimes mean for the sake of being mean”; it’s almost as if he’s the ✨villain✨

It’s dumb questioning the morals of characters supposed to have an antagonistic role.

“Kino hurt Ayato in LE”; out of all characters who have wronged Ayato, at least Kino felt bad and wanted to apologize.

Yui:

“She’s dumb and ugly”; Japanese fans literally love her for being an idiot because it wouldn’t be fun to see the heroine being the best at everything or not making mistakes at all. Plus, her design is definitely not ugly.

Stop creating your own version of Yui in your head and ending up disappointed when she doesn’t act the way you expect her to. No, Yui is not OOC for liking being bitten, having a low learning ability or saying things she shouldn’t in the wrong moments. Nobody is perfect and everyone has their own kinks and flaws.

“She’s too innocent”; she’s not?? If you really want to see her thirsty, go play Ayato’s routes, especially the heaven scenarios.

“She’s weak”, she’s the opposite. Yui is one of the most mentally strong DL characters.

I can’t understand people who hate on heroines when they’re present in all routes and are the most positive characters.

[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[botgal]

Greetings fellow proponents of a free and uncensored internet. We've been fighting a hard and stressful fight this year trying to ensure that the internet as we know it remains as it is. It's tiring and stressful and we all keep doing it because we want to keep from losing the internet that's given us freedom and the ability to do what we love. We've been sending our emails, calling our representatives, and signing our petitions to all do our parts and I'm very proud of every one of you for doing such.

And now, I come to you all with yet one more thing that you can do. Possibly even easier than constantly calling and emailing people. Something that's really quite simple for any adult to do.

Cut the hydra's head and burn the stump for good. This year, we actually have the opportunity to vote some of the biggest sponsors of the bills that pose the greatest danger to our internet out of office. Which could prevent any further attempts to keep popping up their bills over and over again. Including one of the two main backers of KOSA.

Below are a couple of Senators who are up for re-election this very November, and who you have a chance of giving the boot for a chance to salt the earth of at least a couple of these dangerous bills. Or at least make it harder for them to make a comeback.

Senator Marsha Blackburn (Republican - Tennessee) - One of the two major sponsors of the dreaded KOSA.

Senator Ted Cruz (Republican - Texas) - One of the major sponsors of the newer Kids Off Social Media Act that was introduced earlier this month.

Senator Christopher Murphy (Democrat - Connecticut) - One of the main sponsors of the Protecting Kids On Social Media Act.

While getting these three out of office would not fully solve the problem, getting them voted out could give us a fighting chance! So if you or any of your friends, enemies, frenemies, occasional acquaintances, or distant cousins thrice removed live in those states and want to give us a chance to get some of the hottest irons out of the proverbial fire, then keep your eyes on those elections, ensure your voter registration is all up to date, and use what little power we as voting adults have in this crapstorm of a nominally democratic system to get them out of there so we can have a chance to breathe a little easier!

While obviously there may be other considerations for some people when voting certain people out of office, and you may choose for certain people over others due to some issues outweighing others, these are my suggestions to you if you would like to focus on this issue in particular. Do what is best for you, but if the free and private internet is important to you, then I ask you to place some genuine consideration on this.

Thank you for reading. Best of luck to all of you!

[healer-pop]

hii im here to add to ur ask night LOOL any personal ideas on how venture flirts? like what kind of stuff they say to get you going etc.

okok ok. bare with me but there is so much I want to get into here. there’s differences in Venture’s flirting style depending on a couple of things:

1.) your relationship to them

this is the biggest circumstance that changes most of their style, mainly because they are far too nervous to fuck up any possibility once they’ve gotten too attached, but if they just have a slight crush on you, it’ll be less obvious.

I’m talking about the difference between Venture knocking over everyone’s morning drink while trying to get you yours, stumbling over their words hopelessly, walking into a pit accidentally while talking to you, and just otherwise being a fool while head over heels in love with you, too scared to make a move or confession (especially if you’re a more reserved person!) because they appreciate your time and company more than any romantic motives they might have, even though it’s completely obvious to everyone not the two of you AND being such a goof ball you just have the absolute unbearable urge to kiss their flushed cheeks, even platonically, having inside jokes with you that make you laugh so hard your ribs hurt for days, always knowing your favorite of everything, bursting out dancing with them when some sort of goofy song starts on their playlist, and them inviting you to watch the stars with them.

they’re not mutually exclusive, one can edge into the other easily, but Venture sometimes has a problem catching up with their own emotions when they’re so focused on archeology first and everything else second. it tends to be the latter one first which progresses into the other one, but it can seriously go either way. but either way, they aren’t outright flirting with you because they just don’t seem to be that type *cough, cough* wORKAHOLIC. unless Tracer and D.Va are having a best pickup line competition, then you’ll see a bit more of their witty, smoother side. But again, it’s not serious, until…

you get into a relationship with them

this is where Venture absolutely thrives. and this isn’t a second section because this is dependent on what your status to them is. your partner flirts with you in so many different ways, it’s almost hard to keep track of. they are so loving that it’s seriously all encompassing. before I move on, I’ll just state that they are way more self-assured when your relationship status to them is clear and stable. at the beginning, they’ll be more mild, but as time goes on, they’ll get more openly affectionate to the point that it’s nearly impossible to tell you guys AREN’T together. it’s very ebb and flow, though, because Venture spends a ton of time in the field, and when you guys aren’t together, it tends to come over text/calls, which is obviously more private.

so going down the list:

Venture loves to use cheesy pick up lines on you!!! Humor is a major part of their personality and you’ll catch lines like “Are you a Shambali monk? Because you’re totally transcending my mind.” and “I would never bury our love in a coniferous forest, because the acidity of the soil would ruin any chance of preservation.” they don’t really care who’s around to hear as long as they’ve got you either giggling or hiding your face in embarrassment. definitely to the dismay of the other Wayfinders, lol. they’ll shout it across a field, down from a pit to hear their words of love echo back to you.

They will always carry your favorite snacks and drinks in their pack or pockets! Those cargo pants have huge pockets and Venture puts them to good use, by always having your favorites on hand, when you visit them at their excavation sites! It’s so sweet, and 100% done for your own happiness. They always manage to know just what you’re craving and have it nearby. It’s like a primal thing or something. Being able to always nourish your love.

PHYSICAL TOUCH!!!!!!! Venture is a super, duper touchy person when they are in a relationship with you. Not so much when it’s anyone else. Their compliments may always seem physical, but that’s because it’s their love language. Noticing how soft your hair looks, or how plush your lips are… it’s like a Freudian slip. They’re basically asking to kiss or pet you, whatever they mention at the time is on their mind. Later in the relationship, they’ll end up just doing what they want to do before it comes out, but hugging, kissing, or always having a hand on your waist is second nature to them. It’s also a huge turn on to them, when you reciprocate. Even brushing your hair through their hair has them pulling you off for a quick make-out session. They are completely shameless about your ruffled clothes and tangled hair. The hickies too. Those are like Venture’s personal touches on the masterpiece that is your body.

Finally, their texts and calls. when they aren’t by your side, they crave you. they crave your company and attention. expect flowery, overly emoji-ed, gushy texts, from them whenever they get a chance. prefers video calls so they can see your face. they blow up your phone at lunchtime and fall asleep with you on call.

WOW THIS GOT LONG LOL SORRY I AM SO PASSIONATE ABT MY CHEESY LOML

[neetily]

Kinktober 2024 — Angel Sam

— ✧ pairing: Sam / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 9,145 — ✧ warnings: religious contexts, Christianity references, blasphemy, angst, major character death, daddy issues, praise kink, worship, cunnilingus, love bite/hickey, creampie — ✧ synopsis: just one more night with you is all he needs, really. he thinks he could die happy if you smile one more time, y'know? he's still so sorry, by the way.

— ✧ A/N: i have been wanting to write something like this for a very long time, so im happy to finally have finished it! it's not as angsty as i'd originally planned it to be because im a hopeless romantic, but it is pretty bittersweet! please enjoy my ramblings!!

oh, and happy kinktober !!!!!! — ✧ kinktober masterlist

He comes to you in the middle of the night, as all misdeeds tend to.

It's quiet, of course. Naught but the light passing of wind against your window, a few stray moo's hidden from the barn. And for a few breathless moments, he opts simply to stare upon you. Watching you with tenderness in his heart, the kind borne out of the word almost. In that, the tenderness cannot even hope to band-aid his heart back together. Almost, but not quite. Though, looking at you is a treat in its own right, surely. God given, he’d imagine, for father was ever kind in his hatred. Something that, to this day, he’s thankful to remain deaf to for the most part.

And yet still, the burning bile that lines his stomach turns into lava as he listens out for that low thrum of disapproval, the very same one that he’s not entirely certain if it originates from within himself or not—the faux voice of father hidden away in his melting mind, or his own inner monologue? They sound the same at this point—so he can’t help but to look upon you with salvation. Home. A small smile tugs at his lips at the sight of you so peaceful; his appreciation is barely there from how feather light his love for you is, but it’s there. It always has been. And, it’ll always be there, too. More than anything, you help relax his mind— purely by existing. And for that, he's thankful.

Blessed, he feels, to view you in your most vulnerable state. It’s funny, he suddenly thinks, how you feel safer with the sheets covering your fleshy frame as opposed to laying bare and naked— it’d do nothing to save you from his pointed claws, or his God, for that matter. And it’s funny, he reiterates, that the moment he hovers a hand over your sleeping body, you take the opportunity to toss and turn some sheets from your legs anyway, catching his attention immediately as he pores over every detail of you.

For he must.

His very own private God; far kinder and softer than the one deemed naturally as father. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear God in the morning showers you take. Trickling down your body as water droplets, drip, drop, a ritual of love in its own right. Thank you, he slowly mouths down at you. For showing me so many mornings. They never had to be particularly good mornings, because every morning with you was good. And now, more than ever, he wishes to hear the familiar stream of water wash over you, just so that he can put his hands to use again in prayer.

There are, of course, other uses for his hands besides washing your troubles away. So he looks at them, regrettably tearing his vision away from you and into his tired palms instead for a moment or two. It's curious, how they look nothing like how they used to; mud stained and hard worn by now thanks to the Earth’s gifts— and your farming orders. But he smiles once more, because they are at least his. And with his hands, he decides to smooth them over your exposed leg. Gently, with practiced restraint, he ghosts over your trembling skin. A routine worship, his gaze softening at the way you shift and stir in your sleep. How pretty you are right now, forever and always. He takes in the sight of your eyelashes, fluttering with good dreams, he hopes. And of your hair, how it lays perfectly against your pillows, and how he wishes to reach out to stroke your head, but he needn’t disturb your rest further, he thinks. So he gazes some more at how cute you look when grasping the sheets in your sleep, a picture perfect little doll for him to adore. Dropping his vision down to where his worn out hand steals heat from your thigh, and how soft you are under his touch.

Truth be told, he could map out every intricate detail of your being all night long, and on some nights, he does just that. But he can already feel the world dimming in response to his gawking, and he knows that he hasn’t much time left at all. Least of all to be staring, instead of doing.

He wonders how much it’d hurt to see the look on your face later tonight. All twisted and unpleasant, an assumed mimicked wince flashing across his face before he fixes it right up for his sleeping audience. Will you be able to notice the crumble of his mind? Threads picked one by one to undo his wings, pinching at your knee just a little to try and remain soft, stern in his affection for you. Would you, if given the chance, watch in horror as lions teeth are shoved down his throat one by one, just to tear up his insides into something new? Something less tangible— for his own benefit, supposedly. Would you stay by his side to witness the ecstasy overtake his entire being, knowing that despite it all, he’s happy to just be by your side. Even for a single day… He thinks that would have been worth it all the same, too.

But, alas, he plans on depriving you the right to such sights. He couldn’t bear the thought of casing you any harm, least of all from his own faults.

Instead, gentle hands press palms of golden sunlight against the slight sliver of inner thigh your slumbering body offers him. And it’s like a meal to him, bleeding gold against that soft, dangerously so, skin. Enough that he’s convinced he could feast his eyes on you for eternity and still not go hungry. Full of love, desperate to express, communicate, and exclaim it until his lungs give out.

But etched into him is his very own undoing. God’s fingerprints still yet wrap around his bones, coiling up and around his throat to leave the most human lump lying in His wake. He remembers pointing at himself in the mirror one day— before an outing you had suggested. To the local saloon, dressing him up in a manner he’s yet to grow accustomed to; but he can still feel the warmness of his cheeks even now as he idly strokes up and down your leg, how he felt this sense of pride swell in his beating chest upon catching your lovesick smile staring back at him in the mirror and… Oh, so that was the beginning of it all…

Regardless, he remembers pointing at himself. Right in the middle of his new throat, swallowing thickly as a means to steel his frayed nerves, and catching sight of… Well, you had called it an ‘Adam’s Apple’, right? And he’s not so stupid, he knew exactly what those words meant in the moment. But he refrained, bit his tongue in a rare moment of strength around you, and begged the further question of: why?

He liked to hear you talk more than anything this God given world ever dared to offer him. More than the sky, and the birdsong among the clouds, and the smell of grass after it had just been cut, and the softness of your bed sheets right after washing, and the smell of freshly baked bread, and the taste of that terrible Joja Cola, and his newfound friends laughter, and the hot sand between his toes, and the waves that kissed his skin, and the sound of rain against glass, and the sticky floor of the saloon, and the purity seen within the children's smiles, and the way you scrunch your nose up in confusion at him so often, and the way the wind brushes past him on his skateboard, and the countless jokes shared amongst strangers, friends, and lovers— your voice is better than it all and more.

Even when you’re yapping about his not-Adam’s-Apple.

For he’s anything but, to be honest with you. A mere spark in the greater cosmos, but one flicker of light on the verge of turning off forever. And all it takes is that flick, much like how you’d done so earlier tonight before heading to bed; did you ever figure out how he never went with you? It pained him every time to lie by omission, crawling into bed just before your usual wake up time to keep up the tired facade. The occasions that you had caught him up and about were so easily explained behind restlessness. Not entirely a lie, this time. But he’s just like that light switch, and he can feel the ever present threat of a finger looming behind his weary wings.

A stray feather falls by your side in the midst of his musings. Neat and tidy, spinning in circles before softly caressing your sheets. The first of many, he assumes, and he can’t help but to widen his smile at the sight. Good, he thinks to himself. I tire of this hiding. Of this waiting. Of this wretched thing you call existence, father. Please. Please. Take it all away, for I fear that even a slice of this paradise will prove too much to bear.

Another pinch, this time against the softest section of your thigh, and he’s not surprised to see you wake up in response. Gently, lazily, because you have all the time in the world. He’s made sure of that.

“Sorry…” he whispers down at you, as light as the second feather that falls with a pulse. His beating heart laid bare and white before you, so stark in its contrast against the dark, moonlit room that he’s afraid he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been; which would never be the case. Not concerning you. He was made to love you, he thinks.

He knows that to be the case.

He wishes to say so much more than mere sorries, but there is no human way to explain: I love you so much that I want to rip your throat out with my own teeth. I want to clean you dry of blood and swallow you whole, so that we may forever be one. Or, at least, he hasn’t thought of a way yet. And he’s running out of time, so he instead settles on something a bit more understandable to your human ears, like… “Didn’t mean t’wake ya. Jus’ couldn’t sleep again.”

He sees God, again, in your yawn. Strained and teary eyed, and the resulting groan you exhale fills him with such joy that it’s almost unbearable to look upon you with tender eyes. He wants to listen to it forever, on repeat, burning it into his dwindling memory in some vain hope of holding on.

Another feather falls from his wings when you smile back at him, and his hand stills on your thigh in response. Mother Earth whispers promises of give and take, of an intertwining, eventually. These things take time, she reassures in your closed fist, rubbing sleep from your eyes with a slow blink. And he’d much rather listen to the worms and the soil beneath his very human feet as opposed to the unfair God he was unlucky enough to originate from. But then he realises that you, too, originated from Him. And he figures, well… He can forgive him for that, at least.

Your voice is hoarse and riddled with heaviness when you speak, and he can’t help but to sympathise with you, feeling the very same ache in his brittle breaking bones.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” you smile, genuine and fucking pretty, so much so that it aches his bleeding heart. “Restless? Wanna cuddle instead?”

Like moth to the sun that is you, he could never, and would never, deny your invitations. To do so would be akin to blasphemy, he fears. And so with an intentional nod, slow and thick, oozing with the amount of utter adoration he harbours for your every little move, he lifts his hand from your thigh and huddles under the sheets with you. Soft and silky, he thinks to himself. But he’s not quite sure if he means your body, or the sheets. Just that he’s comfortable, happy to accept the terms of his existence so long as he can spend whatever he has left of eternity in your bed, by your side.

Besides, it’s easier this way. Where you’re left unaware, right?

He falls so easily into his usual spot too, his shape carved out of the mattress under his body through sheer use alone; but he likes to think that it was perhaps made for him instead. It helps the inevitability soon approaching, anyway. And just as effortlessly, he assumes the position with you. One arm under your neck, letting your sleepy body curl into his own, a wing outstretched under you to help comfort you. To add to the feathers hidden under pillowcases, too, from the rate they fall for you.

And for the first time tonight since feeling the edges of his end, unfurling into the chaos of the universe within the very same four walls he had hoped would be his coffin, he feels like he can finally rest. A welcomed break from the tiring thoughts, and from the oppressive atmosphere the threatens to pick his wings from his very back; bone and all.

It almost convinces him that he was, and certainly is, good.

But he will never be a good man. He tried— God did he fucking try for you. Did his absolute best to be human, learning through doing; you were ever helpful in his endeavours to denounce his divinity. But alas, here he lays, with the love of his life half asleep in his arms, and all he can feel is home between his teeth. Pick at it all he wants, he never did find out a way to rid the sticky aftertaste of holiness. Like a disease, burning bile in the back of his throat, prompting him to unfortunately cough to clear God from his windpipes and further disrupt your sleep.

“Sorry,” he once again whispers at you, tightening his arm under your neck, another apology resting in his demanding hug. “Caught a cold, I think.”

“It’s okay, Sammy.” You stress, and he feels the urge to apologise again. And again, and again, and again. He doesn’t think he could repeat the prayer of sorry enough times, for he is simply one of His least qualified angels, fluent only in loving the wrong god. He knows only the language of almosts, turning his body in towards you, shuffling along that edge he so precariously sits on even now just so that he can smile at you some more. He’d do anything for you— even die.

“I love you, y’know?” he says as if on instinct, coming naturally to him upon seeing your closed eyed lazy smile. “I will love you for as long as this life will have me, and even after that, too.”

You merely hum back at him, clearly exhausted from the hard days farm work, and he suddenly thinks that he wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s nice, actually. For mother Earth to treat him no differently than you, as if recognising him as a fellow mortal, finally. Laid here beside you so late at night; or is it early morning? He lost track of time a while ago now. But it’s exciting to be recognised as one of the same, and he wears his final moments like a badge of honour.

Though no one will remember you, the moon casts against your cheek, drawing him closer to your angelic face, and they will not make note of you, except of your disappearance, she scolds him, and he takes her harshness with grace, because she’s speaking across your lips, wasn’t it at least fun?

He can’t argue with that, bursting into light laughter at the plain thought. Loving you was fun. It is fun, the humour in his chest continuing at the way your lashes flutter open to the commotion, and adoration floods his lungs.

“What’s funny?” you yawn, his mind growing sluggish with his very own undoing, so he takes a second longer than usual to respond to you.

“Nothin’, jus’ happy, s’all.”

He’s not saying very much, he’s aware. It’s difficult to sort through his thoughts in the face of your cuteness, is all. Too many words swirl in his mind, screaming pick me, pick me! But what’s the best way to appropriately explain the amount of love he holds for you? How can he, ever, accurately formulate the correct string of words to precisely and utterly convey just how blessed he feels to know you, to have known you, and to forever know you? Burning the feeling of your dead leg digging into his hip bone into his hot flesh, so that it exists forevermore— “Can I show you, please?” he settles on, because you’ve taught him that sometimes, actions are far better than words. And though it was not part of his original will, he can’t help but to continue to dote upon you even in his final hours. A hopeless romantic deep down, he supposes. Caring more for you than himself, even if he can afford to act a little more selfish now of all times.

“If you’re not too tired, I mean…” he’s quick to follow up with, not wanting to pressure you into following his eager pursuit of the ultimate death; he’d be just as happy if you simply fell asleep by his side during the whole ordeal, too.

But graciously, you yawn up at him once more, nonetheless turning onto your back. An invitation, he’s learnt. One that he swiftly follows up with by kneeling before you, shuffling his way under the sheets and between your legs. This is his favourite place to worship, and you’re doing him a great unknown honour by allowing him his final supper.

“Will it help you sleep?” you ask, darting your eyes to the barely curtained window, drawn back and wide open to allow moonlight to dance across the floorboards— he wanted to gaze upon your hard work one last time. He’s so incredibly proud of you, y’know?

“It will,” he promises, genuinely. “You too, I bet.”

“You make a good point…”

Giggles. He’s gonna miss giggles, especially yours as you warm his chest up with the sound of joy following your cheeky comment. Shared over natural chemistry, pure instinct borne out of each others company. He’s gonna miss the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh, and how your eyes squeeze shut with promise, beaming up at him like the sun itself; only far warmer, his own personal little sun. Even if you beg to differ, he can’t help but to squint his eyes back down at you when you so easily allow him passage forwards. Like the warm morning sun he’s unsure if he’ll last to kiss, you beckon him closer with that gentle sleepy smile he’s fallen in love with over and over again. Who cares about greeting the morning anew when he’s got you radiating back at him?

His actions remain light, rubbing whispered promises against your knees with his mild thumbs, smoothing them over ever crease and crevice of your legs in a silent act of worship. He knows that heaven exists— not because he’s an angel, but because he met you; ironically, the far better angel than he’ll ever be.

“Aren’t I always?” he teases you back, half-hearted at best— he knows who the real boss of this relationship is deep down. It was never him to begin with, not with the way he follows around after you like a little lost puppy at every God given opportunity. Prophet girl, the suns chosen; he never stood a fucking chance when put against you.

Still, he appreciates it when you play along with him. Offering him the kindest of scoffs before reprimanding him with “You have your moments.”

It’s as he’s helping part your thighs wider, inching closer to to his favourite place on Earth, and hooking a finger under your panties—thank God you tend to sleep in only them during the night, for he fears he could not wait a single second longer due to his wound—that he realises something. What kind of a cruel God creates for the sake of loving, and then subsequently snuffs out that creation for fulfilling its purpose? What kind of a joke was his existence in the first place? Were his siblings, too, cast out of the heavens on some cruel holy mission only to slowly realise that this is but a mere suicide?

It’s silly, how he tries to grapple with the subject of his life. And yet still, it’s but another reminder of his dwindling humanity. A small comfort in such a tender moment with you, that no matter how many questions go unanswered by his so called father, he has you. Sighing so sweetly that it burns his ears red, bunching the sheets up in your barely awake fists, twisting and turning to help him remove those sacred garments— plain and cute, and the feeling of the soft fabric between his nimble fingers serves as a catalyst. Smoothed against the palm of his hand as he slowly tugs the fabric down, noting the slight damp patch adorning it.

He misses you already.

But he keeps a brave face, making a show of his enjoyment by dragging your underwear up to his lips, bunching it up like you do with the sheets just to give it a good long sniff.

“Freak.” You lovingly scold him.

“Only for you. Your freak.” He corrects you.

He’s joking, clearly. Playing along with the facade that having him sniff your scent down his hungry lungs isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen—he’s already noticed the way you shuffle sheepishly with arousal at the perverted display—but he’s also reciting prayer for you. It’s not just hot, it’s also an assurance.  Look, his tongue darts out against the fabric to beg of you, how I love every part of you, he reassures by licking a fat stripe up the meagre wet spot, being sure to suckle on it to swallow every last drop of you. Let none go to waste.

And he’d love to sit here and worship you forever and ever, like a loyal dog. Tilting his head curiously at the thought, he really is just a loyal little dog for you. A creature made for loving, without really being good for anything else. He’s supposed to love you, that’s his God given job. But the ticking time bomb in his chest made of glass shards and peeping eyes claw at his heart, not anymore, the rusted nails dig into his lungs harsher. Now, your job is to be dead. Like an overflowing cup, too much of him spills from the rim and onto you, placing your panties to the side while he assumes an unholy position between your legs.

Not yet, he whispers kisses along your inner thigh on his way down, hooking his arms around your underside to rest on your waist; you can’t escape his devotion, not tonight.

“Let me know if you wanna stop.” He peers up at you, face mere inches away from your bare cunt now as he snakes his body down the bed, not missing the way he must really resemble Adam, salivating over your apple. At the end of the day, you were right as always, he internally grins. And he just wants to make this experience a pleasant one for you, too. As much as he can anyway, in spite of the fact that he’s signing his very own death warrant under your sheets.

And your voice is so soft and gentle when you respond with “Always, Sammy.” that he can’t stop himself from voicing his appreciation, groaning unashamedly when your hand comes up to reassuringly stroke through his messy bedhead hair. You never tell him to stop, but he likes to remind you that he will, absolutely, whenever you ask, stop. Because he is a simple servant to you, his God. Nothing in this world is his, except for you. He’d follow you to the ends of the Earth and further if you so much as asked him to. So stopping is the least he can offer, even if his cock twitches to life at the mere thought of pleasing you tonight— he couldn’t imagine a better send of, honestly.

But before he can dive into his last meal, you call his attention once more. And like the stupid mutt he is deep down, his ears perk up immediately to the sound of your breathy tone.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your words that just begs for his attention, cracking a smile on his weary face. “Thank you.”

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. And I know, deep down, that I would undoubtedly do it again and again, as many times as you'd unfortunately allow. For there is so sweeter taste than my lover under sheets.

You like to remind him on dark, oppressive night like these, that the stars shine brightest in their last moments. And he can see the twinkle in your eyes even now, half lidded and hazy, but bright before him. Peering down in that sultry manner he’s fallen victim to on so many occasions before, his tummy filling with butterflies to counteract the razor blades in response. It’s like you can tell, somehow, that his light is bursting forth for one last time before dwindling infinitely, exploding in on himself in only the most romantic of ways. Are you aware of what you’re thanking him for? Can you tell how much he truly appreciates those simple words, rolling his eyes back briefly in enjoyment before hiding his honesty between your legs, cock twitching against the soft sheets under his hips at the first and last full inhale of your pretty pussy.

Angel cunt, divinity between your legs, ripe for his taking. His tongue automatically darts out upon drawing closer to your cunt, and his cock dribbles some more onto your sheets in wanting. Beads of his love for you dripping, spilling around his fat erection the moment your slick hits his taste buds, and he takes a mental note to savour you. You taste like heaven, but fuck if you weren’t built for sin. Because nothing gets him harder than worshipping you, making you feel good under his pointed flicks and greedy sucks, letting his tongue lay flat along your slit to soak up most of your slick before rolling it upwards, circling around your clit for a few seconds— he can’t help but to slurp around it, his lashes fluttering shut with a roll of his eyes. And then he’s sucking on it for you, making sure to swallow around you just as much as he collects spit, dripping saliva down your pretty pussy to make her all messy and sloppy; just the way you like it, right?

This, between your legs, is his true home. More than the clouds above and the warmth of his wings, the sound of your heavenly sighs and shuffling sheets is more homely than anything before. His fingers, deft and nimble from all the guitar playing he’s partook in on his time on Earth—a pleasure in it’s own right, he’ll miss that too—lifts to your twitching hole, one pad rimming the outside; there’s time yet to tease you, he bargains. For you alone, he is weak.

You just taste so good, always, but especially tonight. Sweeter than usual, like your body knows this to be his last. More than anything, he wants to eat you out until the end of time. Drink you up and swallow down every last drop of juice your sacred hole has to offer him, make you writhe and tremble on your soft sheets for more for all eternity, because fuck his broken existence. Only you matter to him, and the way your muted moans make his cock dribble some more, forming a little puddle under him to match your own leak under your hole, has him acting out. Like an unruly teenager, struck by his first love, hormones going haywire with how rock hard his cock is from just a little petting of your cunt. How much of the holy water staining your sheets sheer is your slick versus his saliva, he wonders?

The finger rimming your hole dips into your cunt and dives as deep as possible, fucking in and out of you in tandem with his circling tongue; near violent with how much he desires you. He’s done this so many times before that it’s almost become routine by now, a repeated prayer of please, let me taste you some more. You deserve it, most of all, for putting up with him tonight. It only makes sense that he thanks you with a curl of his finger, helping stretch that tight little hole out with sacrilegious intent, paying special attention to your puffy little clit with loud slurps and a droning hum to send vibrations through your system.

“Sam, God—!” you gasp, all pretty and hushed, hidden under the bed sheets with him as if doing so would somehow prolong his lifespan. And he shakes the misuse of God from his mind, risking a particularly deep knuckle fuck to bring your attention back to him, where it rightfully belongs. It’s okay, his finger strokes your insides. I’m happy, his lips suck around your clit. “There, right there,” your nails rise to dig into his scalp, a desperate plea for more, and he’d be a fool not to oblige his God. “Do that again, please—”

He’s happy to hear that his angel is a little more awake now, more alert to his divine touch that threatens to ruin you, his wings flapping eagerly behind his heavy back at how urgently you encourage him to continue with tiny tugs and muted gasps. He needn’t be told twice, flicking his tongue over your clit a little faster and pumping his fingers in and out to match the speed, curling against your sweet spot right… There…

“Sammy—!” Bingo.

He doesn’t come up for air; he won’t need it where he’s going anyway, so he wants to get used to the sensation of choking. And there’s no better way to test his limits than to gag on your sweet nectar, dropping his lips down to your hole as soon as his fingers leave in an effort to swallow all your slick, fucking his tongue and in out of you devoutly to help you milk that orgasm out fully. The sound of his name repeatedly falling from your lips is enough thanks for him, but he won’t deny that feeling your thighs muffle around his ears is even better, got his hips acting up when they rut against your sheets once or twice in lewd response.

He only stops kitten licking and swallowing around you when you tenderly pull his head upwards, an exasperated sigh falling from your pretty bitten lips; so swollen and wet, God— he wants to eat your face, too.

“Fuck—” you sigh after a few moments, all smiles and shivers, and his falling feathers ruffle in response. Trailing under you, leaving you trembling in a bed of white roses. He wonders if you’ve noticed them yet. “I don’t think this’ll help me sleep after all.”

“Sorry,” he hums genuinely, but he can’t even hope to hide the boyish smirk that tugs on his lips, an act of defiance against you… Or is it God? What is the difference now, really? Is it really that important to decipher when he can feel the lions jaw close in around his soul? “I’m not done with you yet, though.” He wards the feeling of an approaching roar off.

“I’d hope not.”

Irony is endless. He may now understand his lifes purpose, borne out of the lines on your face when you smile up at him, hidden under your pillows, where an indent of his arm sleeps soundly— will that, too, disappear with him? But with understanding comes nonexistence, and the fault lies with him, apparently. Falling for you is in his blood, and it is with the same blade that his throat is slit, dripping down onto your front and in your hair and on your sheets and on your tongue and God… He can only hope that the stains of his existence are easily washed out. You will, won’t you? Wash him out?

Because sometimes suffering is just that. It won’t make you any stronger, and it won’t offer any deeper meaning to his life. Sometimes, suffering just hurts. Like when he peers down at you from above, sitting more upright now to allow his wings to cast the prettiest shadow over the moonlit back light of your face, and he feels as though his lungs are failing. For all he knows, they very well might be at this point. But he persists, for you. For his selfish desires that put him in this position in the first place— for the rock hard erection that still yet throbs with life, all for you.

“You’re so pretty.” He blurts out, lost in his train of thought while idly stroking himself. He’s kneeling before you again, chin stained shiny and cock throbbing in his loose grip; he’s too idle with his stroking, so much so that he almost forgets what must happen tonight. Too busy admiring you from above, hoping that you can see the way his gaze sparkles for you. “You deserve the world.”

You assume position too, leaning into the long built unspoken language of lovers by way of opening your legs wider, prompting him to bite down on his bottom lip at the sight of your sopping wet little cunt. Pretty, too, just like your face. And your body. And your voice, and your hair, and your— “Thank you. I think you’re pretty too.” You interrupt his self indulgence, but he’s hardly mad. His cheeks flushing warm at your honest praise, he can’t take his eyes off the way you lay there so perfectly pliant. It’s insufferable, just how much he loves you. How it has him leaning down to press a sticky with slick kiss against your wanting lips, his heart stuttering at the way he can feel you smile into the shared saliva.

He’ll never forget about you. Not even for a fucking second. You were, and still are, worth it.

The tiny halo atop his head cracks with his thoughts. Just a little, barely noticeable, even. But he can feel the weight of his musings bearing down on him as he guides his cock to your cunt. Tired fist wrapped so tight around the base of it, tapping the tip against your sensitive clit once or twice just to hear you squeak in pleasure. One last time, just like that.

“Are y’ready?” He asks, because he’s genuinely not sure if he is.

“Of course.” You respond so easily, because you’ve always given him courage he so sorely lacks at times.

“All right, jus’ lemme know if—”

“Sammy,” you reach out for him, touch as tender as your voice is. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” you kiss the words against his arms, and he can do nothing but give in to you.

Of course. You were here before him, and you’ll exist after him. But rather than acknowledging so, he simply nods instead. Confident and reassured thanks to your affirmations, he prepares to give you what he always strives for.

“Promise t’make y’feel real good.” He huffs, letting his leaking tip rest between your soft folds before automatically rolling his hips a little to feel your warm heat try to envelop him whole. And normally, he’d have you waiting a little while longer for this. Make you writhe and squeal and beg him for this; his cock heavy and beading precum against your red little clit. Normally, he’d have all the time in the world and more to dote upon you in privacy, down on his hands and knees by your feet just pleading for another chance, just one more, c’mon baby, I know y’can do it.

But it’s the end of the world, so he figures that giving in to his natural selfish desires just this once is okay, right? Especially considering the way your brows furrow from the meagre amount of contact he’s provided you thus far, and the way your chest heaves so persistently, body begging for him when your words get lost on you… He’s sure it should be fine.

So he gives in. Just like that, without second thought. He angles his cock down with the pad of his thumb, letting his other hand rest gently by the side of your head— careful. He’s always so careful with you, treating you like glass, afraid that if he were to not be so gentle with you, that you’d disappear from beneath his very fingertips. And he absolutely can't have that happening, not right now.

His wings ruffle some more to spend plenty feathers, a shiver of pleasure rolling down his spine at the feeling of your hole twitching eagerly against his leaking tip. You are sin incarnate, coaxing him to fall further for you, and he’s never felt so good to be so impure. He takes in a single breath, steeling himself for what’s to come, before dipping his tip inside of your wanting hole with a further crack of his halo. Catching perfectly into you to force a gasp from your pretty lips, and fuck, it feels so good to die.

“God—” he gasps, with the amount of heavy reverence your cunt demands of him. “Can’t get enough of ya— shit—” he pushes in some more, well aware of the fact that he’s barely filled you up and he’s already dying for more. “Mine. All mine.”

He punctuates his act of ownership with a quick and mortal thrust forward, unable to hold himself back the second he enters your cunt; you are his very own undoing. And he’s powerless to stop his hips from stuttering in, coating his cock in that sweet slick he fell for in the very beginning, and he knows for sure that the Gods must be envious of him in this moment. To feel your walls squirm around him as he eventually bottoms out, soft and squishy and fucking perfect, divinity coursing through your veins to wrap around him so tightly; to be so human is a blessing, he thinks. And yet still, somehow, you are his cosmos. Sooooo fucking pretty under him, gasping for air as his balls rest flat against your ass and your hips are turned slightly upwards to help ease him into your angel cunt, and fuck— he can’t fucking stand it anymore. When he dies, which he must do, he’d like to go out with a bang. Physically and metaphorically.

You’re ruining him, and you’ve done nothing but lay there for him. “Taking me so well, fuck, I needed this—” he praises you regardless, a breathless chuckle escaping his failing lungs. “So beautiful like that, y’were made for me, werent’cha?”

And he’s not certain you understand the gravity of his words, or how true they really are, but he appreciates your meek approval regardless. A soft spoken, fucked out little “Mhm—!” Crawled up your throat for his heavenly pleasure. He does his best to relish in how wrecked you sound, knowing deep down in his bones that it’s not what you do, or what you say that he’ll remember. But it’s how you make him feel that’ll stick with him, all dizzy and light-headed, heat coursing through his system to leave him breathless above you.

As far as coffins go, this house is the perfect burial. Comfortable and familiar, balls deep in your cunt, he offers you mere seconds to grow accustomed to his final searing stretch. Because to be human is to accept the inevitability of it all, a shudder running through him at the way you look picture perfect under him. Like an old classical painting, caught in a moment of utter passion— he does everything in his power to burn the image in his mind.

“I’m gonna get movin’ now, ‘kay?” He warns you, because it is a warning. With how heated his temper is right now, he can’t be blamed for fucking you within an inch of your life, surely, as he intends to do. Drawing his hips back until only his tip remains inside of you, just to selfishly hear that little whimper drip from your pretty pouty lips like usual. Comforting in its predictability, he loves you beyond words. “Good girl.” Escapes him, an automatic worship, before he’s slowly pushing his cock back inside of you. Making you endure every throbbing inch of his heavy cock, carving his shape out in your hole, and then again. And again, and again, settling into a tedious pace of in and out— torturous even for him. Teasing both parties to try and draw the inescapable end out for just a little longer. He misses you with every thrust in, and he loves you with every draw back out.

“Feels good—” you struggle on the words for him, and he chokes with you. Voice caught in his throat from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him. Enough to rival the dwindling divinity within him, specks of gold dust your bed sheets with his lazy fucks. And you’re right, it does feel good. Unfairly so, as if the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on him. Here, your lover lies, forever pretty under the spilling moonlight. Here, she feels better than ever, squirming on the end of your cock, gasping into the night air as a form of thanks. And here, you must lay on the bed of your own making.

Ouch, he thinks. But the pain of knowing that he’ll soon leave you—there’s nothing you could have done to help him, y’know that, right?—is easily pushed aside when your cunt wraps ever tighter around him, squelching slick around the base of it for his viewing pleasure. The feathers that fall to signify his status of death compliment you well too, he thinks. Surrounding your shivering frame in a manner most befitting a God. Ruffled out of him with eager thrusts, his pace quickening under the tight squeeze of your cunt just begging for more. And he can’t hope to stop fucking into you from how good you feel now, choking him so nice and tight like you know this to be the end, causing him to fall further into you. One hand locked around your waist to keep you pinned in place, the other supporting his broad shoulders by your head. His nails dig into you, just a little, as if to communicate the gravity of his decision. “Love you—” he whispers fervently, cut off by a telling moan barely bitten back by his terse lips. “I love you, love you so much—” he whispers, not out of shame, but out of a want for you to be the only one to hear his prayers. “Love you so much it hurts—” he fucks into your harder now, harsher, communicating the significance of his existence, and the impact your life has had on his own tapering one, with how heavy his thrusts turn out to be. How with every fuck his halo shatters that little bit more, the tips of his wings turning to ash before his very eyes.

But he’s being honest, y’know, about how much it hurts to be so in love with you. His sacred lover, taking his cock so well, letting his limbs entangle with your own so that he can’t find where you start and he ends. It’s nice that way, right? A shared mix of fluids, your cunt leaking all over his cock— so much so that some of it spills down to his balls, causing a loud slap! to reverberate against your four small walls when his thrusts increase in speed, a desperate bid for more, more, more. He could never get enough of you, never in a million lifetimes. And he, too, spills precum against your walls. Drowning your cunt in his slick, an ever outpouring of his love for you through such seedy means; though God may not approve of his affections, you do, don’t you? Clawing at his tense arms, muscles taut under your loving scratches. He will not relent, not for a fucking second will he give you anything but his best. Because you’re his just as much as he is yours, and you deserve his loyal, unending thrusts. Fast enough to prompt him into adding more weight to your hips, just to keep you from being fucked up the bed. Deep enough to leave him breathless, heaving for those last few gulps of air he’s allowed under the heavy squeaks and squeals of the bed below him.

And oh, how lovely you sound when matching the bed. All high pitched and airy, the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss is almost too much for him to endure. His jaw snapping shut to grind his teeth, exhaling through his nose back down at you. He’s sure that he must looked so pained right now, fucking you so full of his fallen angel cock that he can barely keep up with himself, a mess of the man you fell in love with. Especially with the way his wings appear broken by now, crooked and mismatched, tainted by his profane reason for living, but he continues. Relentless in his loving assault, moving the hand on your hip down to your puffy clit once more in a final bid of defilement.

“C’mon—” he rasps, voice lost on him due to the oil that tars his system all clogged up, “I got you, jus’ one more, y’can do that fr’me, right?” he ends up pleading from you, humping into your tight hole with newfound carelessness in an effort to have you cream his cock— it’s all he wants, now, selfishly. To feel you reciprocate his dying wish in kind, his thumb slipping and sliding between your folds for a moment or two due to how hard and fast he fucks, leaving him a little off balance. But he finds you soon enough, cooing down at the way you whine and shiver from under him when he rubs sloppy circles against your sensitive clit. He knows you’re close— a lifetime with you offers him entrance to your secrets. The quiver of your thighs around him, as well as the repeated pulsing of your insides, squirming around his fast fucks, is all he needs to know that you’re close. So he doubles his efforts, pressing messily against your clit with half thrusts, focused more on your pleasure than his own, as per usual.

And he can hear just how much you appreciate it due to the small and forgiving sounding “Sammy—!” you whine, a knee-jerk reaction causing his hips to falter some more inside of you.

Instinct commands him to fall down, his body completely encasing your own in one fell swoop, frantic wings doing their best to cover your enjoyment from prying Godly eyes as his lips naturally find home on your neck for a heated kiss. He can’t breathe, suffocated by your tight heat, warm little hole soon creaming around his cock just like he wanted it to— but still he finds the strength to mutter a weak “Fuck— don’t— y’can’t sound that good, or I’m gonna—”

It’s prophetic, almost, how soon he follows suit. Coaxed into painting your insides white with fat ropes of cum the second your cunt starts to squeeze rhythmically around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth; which at this point is very little, but he does his best for you. It’s a surprise that he’s lasted this long, truth be told. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, he urgently pants hot air against your damp skin in between open mouthed kisses, downright desperate to keep your scent in his lungs, his own hair sticky with sweat too when he pushes ever closer towards you, driving his cock deeper against your womb in some vain attempt to leave a lasting memory of himself.

But here, he can do something, at least. A final hurrah, urged into action from how madly in love with you he is to the point of delirium. Feathers twitch behind him as he latches onto your neck with different purpose, grazing his teeth against that sweet spot of yours—the resulting soft sigh you exhale only has his cock throbbing some more, a few more drops of cum dripping to make your cunt extra sticky—before he sucks. Long and hard, using the last of his strength to leave a temporary mark, because God cannot even hope to take this part of him away from you. It’s outside of his jurisdiction, he hopes.

He heaves once he’s satisfied that he’s sucked on your neck sufficiently, pulling back to marvel at the wet bruise soon to bloom on your pliant skin. And, because he’s completely spent, he lets his cock drag out of you with a pop! A shared wince hissed amongst satisfied lovers, it’s so easy for him to fall by your side with a light oof.

“Gosh...” You gasp after a few moments of silence, embracing the mutual huffs and puffs for air with kindness and grace. He’s struggling, now, but his arm automatically snakes under your neck once again, and he instinctively pulls you closer like some home safety routine.

“Yeah,” he agrees with your wordless thanks, coughing to clear his throat— or is it to remove the barbed wire? He can’t distinguish clearly now, which must mean only one thing. “C’mon, I love you, but hurry an’ get back t’sleep. It’s late.”

He does his best to sound as caring and considerate as possible, releasing a sigh of relief when you smile a whispered yes boss before snuggling in closer, and a quick peek down at you as he offers you a last forehead kiss shows that your eyes are closed, and finally, he can fully relax by your side.

He doesn’t mean to rush you, but he’s been selfishly using borrowed time till now, and he doesn’t want to have you endure his ending whilst awake. So he, too, closes his eyes with you. Though he needn’t have to; angels don’t sleep. But it just feels natural to, humanities last gift. Rest, now, the moon implores him. Promise it’ll be like a dream.

And it’s not that he doubts Mother Earth, but rather, his brows furrow in confusion. But mom, he resembles that of a child. There is no better dream than her.

Nothing replies back to him, which he takes as mutual understanding. He’s correct in knowing that nothing could ever beat resting by your side, watching you fall back asleep peacefully, soundless in your blissful ignorance. He hopes that he’s warm enough for you to cuddle into, and that he’s left you feeling satisfied enough. He doesn’t think he could take not serving his God properly, as you deserve. That'd be a fate worse than death, no doubt.

Once more, he glances down at you. At the way your chest rises and falls wordlessly, such a simple detail to notice, but one that he hopes sticks with him through his nearby transition. You’re really pretty in the moonlight, y’know? And you suit his limited parting gift as well, all red and blotchy, but his mark. You're beautiful in your unknowing.

And his voice comes out before he has a chance to check himself, an unavoidable aspect to death, he supposes. Letting it all loose for you.

“When you wake up to a world absent of me, just know that you made me the happiest.”

He can’t stop himself, now. Quiet in his affections, pushing through the ache in his chest to say his final goodbyes.

“And I’ll miss you, like a lonely little dog.” He forces out cheap laughter, cheeks tinted warm from the sheer state of himself. “And I’ll wait for you, too.” He reassures you, flinching at the way his wings now stab into his back like iron daggers, their usual softness is nowhere to be found, besides amongst your bed sheets. Though he hopes, fucking prays that you’ll never find your way back to him. You deserve heaven, he thinks, as opposed to the exile he’ll soon be greeting for going against His word.

“Good dogs wait, right?” He coughs again, squinting at the specks of blood that spatter against his panting chest. “Was I good enough?” he questions you, not his God, the Earth, or anybody else. But you, who dozes so serenely beside him, unaware of his current predicament. He’s made quite sure of that. “Didn’t you say that all dogs go to heaven, even if they did some bad things?” Then why not him? Why not him? Was his sin far too egregious to be allowed in heaven? His crime of loving you?

It’s pointless, he realises, to ruminate. Taking to throwing his head back to stare up at the ceiling absentmindedly instead, and warmth spreads throughout his entire being in the action. He briefly wonders about who will look after you when he's gone, and how much he grieves for you already. The dim light from his broken halo is swollen with: love was here, as a defiance. And in between the cracks in smaller writing is: it still is. He thinks he will always wonder if he could have saved you from the pain, if only love could have saved you, then he'd still be here after you.

He will ask God why for the rest of time itself. And he knows, intimately now in the mundanity of it all, that he will never come to an understanding. Even if God himself came down for a personal chat to tell him the exact reason as to why he has been branded with sweet sin, he would never accept it. Could never accept it. With great love comes great pain, and my God, you were the greatest.

Thank you escapes his lips again, mouthed to the rickety old lampshade staring back down at him. Maybe he should have fixed that before tonight, too.

Maybe he should have—

taglist !! (i know this one is late im sorry i FORGOT i will add it to future writing tho !!)

@wrongdodo @loverboykirstein @buniieboo @bnvlntce @lovethethief @sashiavi @deepestnightcolor @kyrothehornypuppy @catboyjesus @mollybun @scrunkle-writings @girlconsume @quoththe-ravenn @anonymousren @nervous-obsolete @pastelhedgehog @kyrasmoon @cherryminxx

(praying that these work)

[rainbowsky]

Regarding CPN discussions, questions and comments

Several times over the past few days I've had to remind people about a boundary I have around discussions of CPN, so I feel it might be a good time to remind everyone of this so that everyone is on the same page.

I'm always preaching that CPN is for turtle's eyes only. It isn't meant for wider consumption by solos or passersby. This is for the protection of turtles and of GG and DD. When CPN crosses over into other areas, it pretty much always leads to fan wars and anti activity.

One of the measures that I feel passionately about in connection with this is the notion that

CPN should never be discussed in posts that are tagged with GG and DD's individual names.

There are a couple of really good reasons for this:

It's part of staying in our own lane. Solos follow the tags for GG and DD's individual names, and if CPN is discussed in those posts, solos can stumble across it and create problems. I have faced a lot of harassment in the past - including the recent past - from solos because of this very thing, and it's not fun. Fan wars are never good, but especially not when I become a target for hate through no fault of my own. If you talk about CPN in the comments of my posts, I am going to be the one attacked for it, not you.

Posts tagged with their individual names are for celebrating their individual works and achievements. There's plenty of space for clowning elsewhere.

All that I ask is that before you comment to discuss CPN in the notes of one of my posts, please double check that it is not tagged with 'xiao zhan' or 'wang yibo'. If it is, submit your comment or question to me as an ask, contact me privately about it, or find a post on my blog on a related subject that is tagged with 'bjyx' or 'yizhan' and comment there.

You can also feel free to make a post about it in the Yizhan Tumblr community.

Please also feel free to do whatever you want, take whatever risks you want, and embody your own values around this topic on your own blog, including reblogging my individual posts with whatever commentary you want. Feel free to use whatever tags you want and to discuss whatever you want in a reblog. Just please don't comment with CPN in posts on my blog that are tagged with their individual names.

A note on reactions

Some people really take it personally and get bent out of shape when I make this kind of request. This is by no means a rare reaction. The majority of turtles who I mention this to in response to CPN comments in the notes of these posts respond in a negative way. Some even unfollow or block me for it.

I don't understand why anyone would be offended by a boundary I set for my own well-being online, or why anyone would take personally a decision that I have made for my own well-being.

I have had a lot of harassment and hate thrown at me over the years, and due to a lifetime of being singled out, I am especially sensitive to bullying. It's just not something I want in my life, and I will seek to avoid and prevent it at all costs. Please respect my needs in this regard.

As importantly, we really do need to stay in our own lane to try to maintain some measure of harmony between fandoms, and to avoid fan wars.

This is not a new boundary - I've been stating it for years. @accio-victuuri has been saying this for years as well. It is by no means unusual for this request to be made by turtles. It is a best practice for avoiding fan wars.

So please try to be understanding about this. I would never make a request of someone if I didn't have a good reason.

I don't state these things to make you feel bad in any way. Nor do I hold it against you if you make a mistake. I'll just remove that comment and explain to you why I've done so. Don't take it personally. I appreciate people's engagement with my posts, and do not want to make anyone feel alienated. I do my best to express myself in a kind and understanding way.

I hope you will extend me the same courtesy.

[cindol]

can you do brat reader x bodyguard mikasa w smut 🌚

brat taming with mika’ . . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ ♱

mikasa Ackerman x black fem reader

cw + — mikasa is a bodyguard (obviously), reader is a pop star, brat taming, smut, modern au, pet names(sweetheart, princess), half baked bad plot kinda, consent given before hand, reader is cocky and witty,

wc : no idea because i decided to say fuck it and write on here instead of google docs .

a / n : just a warning 😭! there’s like six dividers/ time breaks because i fucking yap sometimes. also cliff hanger because im not the best at smut srry 😕

mikasa usually is just your good natured protective bodyguard, always making sure you safely get into your pink honda safely after being at some bustling club with paparazzi surrounding the area. She listens to your complaints about some asshole paparazzi getting too close for her liking and is quick to shove them back but a shove that won’t make them have some major injury.

mikasa’s always at your beck and call, feeding into your bratty popstar personality of wanting any and everything but she doesn’t tolerate disrespect. In any videos you’ve posted on tiktok she fed into the silliness of you wanting to be carried and she even tended to you orally on her own liberty. But don’t be mistaken, mikasa didn’t appreciate disrespect.

anybody who personally knew mikasa knew that she could only be so sweet and serene before she had enough of the bullshit and you learned that on a particular night.

it was a usual sunday night for you at your favorite night club, mikasa at your side in your private section with you as you partied with your girls and poured shots of tequila with the bottle and shot glasses you were given.

it really only took three shots of tequila like usual to get you tispy but bolder than usual tonight. Dancing on tables and singing, then getting some real audacity to sass at her. Mikasa only smiled at her first and brushed it off as you having more fun than usual.

but again, her patience only went so far, even for a pop princess like yourself.

once it was eleven pm the clubs was getting emptier and emptier and mikasa knew you’d soon be tired. You were so tipsy still, just giggling now sitting down with your two girlfriends now that the other three had left. In your section you noticed mikasa getting up and grabbing your pink shoulder club purse.

“whatcha’ grabbing my purse for?”

mikasa just made a simple smile at you.“well i think it’s about time to head out isn’t it? You’ve got a date with a vanity interview tomorrow and i’m sure you wanna be early and awake for that, so cmon.” she lent her hand out for you expecting you to take it like usual but you did the opposite.

instead you giggled and just put both your feet on your section’s table.“hmm, how’s bout nah? I think me and my girl’s can handle just one night without some curfew.”

“not curfew, just a appropriate time that you’ve set for yourself to not be grouchy when morning time comes, sweetheart.”

there were some giggling from your two friends at the petname she used and it made you laugh along too.“sweetheart isn’t making me leave this here seat till it hits midnight, mika and i don’t think you’ll make me even get up from here.” you stating that really just invited mikasa to teach you a lesson with her nerves being pushed with how cocky you sounded.

and thats exactly what broke her.

everything moved so fast, one minute you were giggling and teasing your bodyguard then the next in your bedroom with your clothes discarded and mikasa’s security suit done the same in the corner of your room. The only thing mikasa had on was some grey boxers and a white long sleeved blouse while her palm slapped onto your bottom again and again with you spread on her lap.

this time you had a different tone than your teasing one, now just making out whines and moans at the sensation of her hand against your bottom.

when mikasa had enough of berating your ass she smiled and soothed your cheeks with her hand then pulled your black lace wig to see your usual smiley face have a pout with your mascara running down your face.

“it makes me sad to see your pretty face so sad but you’ve brought me to this point but i have to sweetheart.”

you scoffed with a cheshire cat like smile.“at least it’ll teach you not to be such a softie, mika.”

mikasa let out a breath of air and brushed one hand through her hair at you saying that.“then i guess my work isn’t done if the bratty popstar is still mouthing off even when i spank her.”

abruptly she shoved you off her lap and onto your bed on your stomach before she went to search in your closet where you stored all your toys.

you turned your head to see her searching.“what? Finally decided to get rid of that bad medieval fashion taste and pick something of mine up?”

“if your taste mean a glittery pink dildo with a strap? then i guess pink is the new white for me, princess.” she turned around to show the dildo’s seven inch glory, ready to attach it to her waist, humming just looking at the seven inch silicone dick attached onto her.“but if it teaches you how to behave and not be so mean to the woman who protects you, i guess i’m okay with the sparkly dick.”

you were giggling still, but mikasa was gonna completely rock your shit.

by this time your glossy smirk was gone from your face, instead your eyes were rolled back with your mouth wide and drool seeping from it and moans pouring out.

On the other end of you, mikasa was repeatedly thrusting into you, her right hand holding both your wrists in one and her left hand on your hip to steady herself from the rippling effect your brown ass had at her thrusting.

“mm-mmph! too rough mika!” your hands attempted to break free and slow her rampant thrusting against your sweet spot. That only encouraged her and made her groan with a grin, smacking your flailing hands and continuing to thrusts deeper and deeper and bending her neck down to whisper in your ear and grab a hold of your hands.

“i think not even a minute ago someone was telling me i should toughen up, so i don’t wanna hear any complaints. i’m sure you somehow planned this in your little pink sparkly decorated head to rile me.” she gave a sharp thrust making you gasp out to keep you wide and alert.“so don’t give out just yet, pop princess.“

just to keep you wide awake mikasa made a shift of positioning you and turned so you were now on your back with one leg down and the other laid on her shoulder. Both of you face to face with you seeing mikasa’s pale face have a slight blush and damp here while she had the sight of seeing your face with smudged makeup and a black jet lace wig that just refused to let go from your head.

mikasa had a rare beaming wide toothed grin at that as she looked at your wide eyes and wider mouth while continuing to feed your sopping cunt more thrusts.“whatever hairstylist you paid must’ve used some life binding glue for it to stay this long.”

“guess i should send her another text if it’s being well received then.”

mikasa just hummed.“i think i can sweat it off in half a hour from here.”

mikasa would prove herself right, even if you doubted that with a small eye roll. She knew what made your body tick and your weaknesses. It didn’t take her eons to find what the female g-spot was again and again, with how she repeatedly thrusts into your woman hood she would have your climax coming early.

and she wasn’t hesitating to stop there either.

[pallysuune]

Summary: You have been at the Lion's side since he first walked onto Camarth and remembered who he was. Whatever else anyone says about him, you've seen how human he can be, and try to help him in an equally human way.

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Lion El'Jonson

Warnings: spoilers for The Lion: Son of the Forest, I guess. Some good ol' fashioned fluffy smut. No beta we die like fanfic writers.

A/N: I love how different the Lion is in Son of the Forest, how much more mature and respectful he is. I've got a soft spot for the old man. This, uh, may have gotten a little out of hand.

The Protectorate was nearing a state where it would be self sufficient. Where Lion could step away without fear that 'his people' would once more fall to the predation of chaos. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking most of the time, but everyone near him could tell that he was affected by that notion. How he was affected was up to debate, though. His Risen were of the opinion that he was anticipating his return to the Imperium at large, maybe even excited for it in his own way. But you thought there was more to it than that.

Not anxiety, exactly, but something adjacent to it.

While the majority of the Lion Guard would remain in the Protectorate, there was a small number who would be joining him and his sons in their travels. You were one of them. It wasn't much of a surprise, if you were being honest. While you weren't the captain of the Lion Guard, or any other named rank, you served as close to an equerry as he currently had. You'd dare even say you were close to him. Closer than most.

The ship that would carry you all away from the Protectorate wasn't one many would call worthy of a Primarch, but Lion himself had seemed nothing but satisfied with it, thanking the tech priests and engineers who had gotten it in working order with a sincerity that had left them flustered and star struck. It was still, in fact, a little small for someone like him, especially in the private cabins, which was what necessitated him sitting cross-legged on the floor as he currently was.

He'd been sitting there for so long with his eyes closed, you thought he was meditating, or that he'd fallen asleep, when he spoke suddenly.

"You know you don't need to be here all the time."

You fixed him with a flat look, even if he wasn't able to see it currently. "The last time we were on a ship, you took a walk in the middle of the warp and none of us knew what happened to you," you reminded him, in a sharp tone you only dared to use in private.

He opened his eyes and looked up at you. You blushed a little. He didn't intend it, you were pretty sure, but his attention was always so intense that it got to you every time.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a faint smile. "My sons were quite upset with me about that," he conceded.

He motioned toward a chair, offering for you to sit, and, in a way, accepting the fact that you were going to be staying there. Triumphantly, you sat down.

Silence fell between the two of you for a moment, before you cleared your throat softly. "Can I ask you something, Lord Lion?" He looked over at you again. For how calm he could be, he still didn't like to be kept waiting, so you went on quickly. "Why did you bring the Lion Guard with you? Not just now, but when you first brought us with you from Camarth. You... don't really need us. Especially now that more of your sons have joined your side. So why...?"

He didn't answer immediately, glancing away instead, his eyes lowering to the floor as he thought about it. "I do need the Lion Guard. I cannot protect these planets alone, nor can I traverse the stars to rejoin my father's imperium alone. Even a Primarch is nothing without people who are willing to trust and follow them."

He looked meaningfully at you.

"In truth, I need you just as much as you needed me. I am still human."

You knew he meant 'you' in a general sense, but your heart still skipped a beat all the same.

His gaze seemed just a little more focused on you, and you suddenly recalled a rumor you had heard once that he could hear so well he could even hear a person's pulse. Was it true? Could he hear how yours was suddenly fluttering in your chest?

"Don't you ever get tired, sir?"

He arched a brow at you. "I slept for ten thousand years," he said, his voice so dry you couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"That isn't what I meant," you huffed, flustered.

His expression softened ever so slightly. "I do. But there is too much to do to give in to it."

You hesitated again, looking at him. Your heart was beating so fast, you were almost sure it would break out of your rib cage and fly away. "Would you... permit me to help you with that?"

His expression closed off, becoming more guarded, and for a moment, he just looked at you. And then, slowly, he nodded.

You took a deep breath and rose from your seat. After one last second of hesitation - you could stop this before it started, your brain said, pretend it never happened, and go back to serving him as normal - before you slipped into his lap, sitting lightly on his thighs. This close, you could so clearly see the lines at the corner of his eyes, the silver in his blond hair and beard. He didn't move in the slightest, and his eyes never left yours. Slowly, you reached up, fingertips brushing his cheek, before you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

He didn't respond immediately, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around you. He was gentle, almost achingly, as if he was afraid of hurting you. His broad, warm form enveloped you. He kissed you back, slowly, and you could practically feel the tension release in his shoulders as he let himself let go and accept the affection and comfort you were giving him. His fingers slid into your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head.

You had seen the Lion fight before. To think that the same hands you had seen kill daemons with such ease could be so gentle when touching you made your heart ache.

The kiss grew deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips, sweeping into your mouth and gliding over yours. You moaned softly.

He smoothed one large hand down the curve of your back, letting it settle low, where the edge of your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly. He slid one calloused finger beneath, drawing over your skin. "Do you wish to continue?"

You realized it was a genuine question. He would not stop you or blame you if you didn't wish to go any further. That, just as much as the warmth of his body and the way he had responded to your kiss, urged you on.

"I do."

The Lion kissed you again softly, beginning to pull your shirt up. He's wearing a shirt that buttons down the front, something made for him on Avalus to wear when he's not in his armor. You fumble with the buttons, fingers slipping on them in your eager haste. You felt the quirk of his lips in a smirk of amusement, and felt heat rise to your cheeks. When he pulls away to draw your shirt over your head, you take the opportunity to undo the buttons since you could see them. You pushed his shirt back off his shoulders.

He was a broad man, muscular and strong, his skin pale, with the ghosts of freckles dusting his shoulders, waiting for the kiss of the sun to bring them out. Scars mark his body, a long with the metal ports where his armor interfaced with his body. It was strange how different it was and yet how recognizably human. You ran your hand down his chest, marveling at him.

He said nothing, watching you silently as you looked over his upper body. When you glanced up, you met his his eyes. That intense forest green gaze. You flushed.

He leaned in and kissed you again.

Lion lifted you with ease, making quick work of the rest of your clothes before removing his own. Naked, he drew you back into his lap. Your breath hitched at the feeling of skin against skin, his cock resting against your sex. His hands roamed over your body as he held you close and kissed you, in utterly no hurry. He trailed kisses down your neck and over your shoulder. He lavished your body with kisses and touches until you were squirming in his lap, panting softly.

It was only then that he laid you back onto the floor, shifting over you. One large hand guided your leg around his waist. His lips pressed softly to your breast. His beard scratched your skin lightly. His mouth was hot as he took your nipple into it to suck lightly on it. His fingers brushed along your folds. Heat and pleasure rushed through you. You were slick and hot under his hand as he circled your clit and pressed a finger into you.

You whimpered softly, your hips arching up into the movement of his hand.

"Patience," he murmured against your chest.

You wasn't sure how he could expect you to be patient when he was slowly fucking you with one thick finger. But you bit your lip, trying to keep from squirming too much.

"Good girl."

His voice alone was enough to make you whine again.

Lion took his time, patient and thorough, fingering you and playing with your clit until you were practically dripping for him, your arousal slickening your thighs. You were nearly delirious with need when he drew back, slipping his finger from you. He raised it to his mouth, and you watched through lidded eyes as he sucked your essence from his fingers.

"A man could lose himself between your thighs," he rumbled, green eyes locked with yours.

"Lion," you breathed.

He pursed his lips, and you were sure it was to hide a smile, and leaned back down over you. He guided your legs around his waist again. You felt the press of his length against your slit. Slowly, he rolled his hips forward, pressing into you, stretching you, filling you. Your back arched, your hips rocking up to meet his. A long, low moan slipped from your lips.

He groaned softly before his lips met yours. He kissed you deeply. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers threading in his hair. He was the only thing that existed to you in that moment. You clung to him, grounding yourself in the strength of his body. And you let yourself get lost in the push and pull of your bodies, in the pleasure that seared through your veins. Nothing else mattered.

He began to move faster, chasing the high both of you so desperately needed. His fingers found your clit once more and you keened, pushed over the edge. Your pussy tightened around him, your juices dripping down your thighs as he continued to fuck you through your release. Everything was a haze of sensation, highlighted with the sound of deep, masculine groans in your ear, as your body began to tread that line between pleasure and pain, too much and not enough. You trembled in his arm. He continued fucking you.

He bucked into you and stopped, filling you completely. You could feel the throb of his manhood in you as he pumped you full of his seed.

For a moment, you both remained like that, twined together. You were panting. He was breathing a little hard, too, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. He pressed a kiss there before finally pulling himself up.

You expected him to pull away, get dressed, and return to his meditation. Instead, he drew you close to him again, back into his lap as he shifted to lean back against the wall. He took his shirt and draped it over you. You hadn't anticipated cuddling but, well, you certainly going to turn down the opportunity. You let yourself lay across his chest as his arms came to settle around you again.

Lion didn't speak. But as you began to fall asleep, you could have sworn you felt the touch of his cheek against the top of your head.

[genderqueerdykes]

Hello 👋

I'm wondering if you (or anyone else who sees this) has any advice/resources about detransitioning/retransitioning? I've been living as a trans guy since I was a kid and I'm a young adult now, but I recently I realized that I really miss being a girl and I think I want to socially detransition? And it's really lonely, because the vast majority of people I see talk about detransition online at least are anti-trans and I really don't want to involve myself with them.

I just don't know how to tell my family and friends. I know it's silly because they've always been super supportive, but I just feel like I'm being a burden for wanting to change my name and pronouns yet again. I can't help but worry that they think I'm indecisive or this is just another phase or something.

-🐞

you know, that's a good suggestion, i really should compile resources for de/retransitioning people, because it's so hard to find good information that isn't clogged with terve nonsense. it deeply bothers me how hard it is for detrans people to find safe community amongst one another without so much violence and hatred. theres absolutely nothing wrong with detransitioning, you can't know if something is for you until you try it. you shouldnt have to involve yourself with transphobic people just because you want to socially detransition

i would say wait to tell your family until you know for sure this is right for you to eliminate those "it's a phase" moments. you don't have to tell family and friends if you're questioning something, it's alright to have that to yourself for a bit. its something deeply personal to you, and it's about you first. you can tell other folks whenever you feel like you're ready to go ahead with things. i would also like to say try to present and feel like yourself in your alone time to boost confidence. if youre able to dress the way you want in private, it can at least help you figure out if you're on the right path or if you're unsure. its okay to be the person you are in private before you show the world.

i will do my best to try to compile some resources for detrans & retrans people that are actually helpful. thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's been bothering me for years that detrans people can't talk to each other because of the state of the tags on this website. if anyone else has any advice feel free to chip in. take care of yourself for now, feel free to reach out again any time

EDIT: someone was nice enough to leave some reddit communities for detrans people who aren't terves: r/actual_detrans, and r/detransition_support both do not allow terves and terf rhetoric. i hope these can be of some help to you!

[tobybestupid]

Steven Adler NSFW Alphabet <3

Tw: NSFW, smut smut smutty smut!! (Too lazy to name everything sorrrryyyy, I'll try), fluff!!, somewhat descriptive smut, breeding kink, mentions of threesome, mentions of drunk sex, masterbation,

A = aftercare

This boy wants to make sure you're okay, gives you amazing cuddles and kisses, cleans you up. If he and you aren't too tired he'll run you a nice warm bath!! <33

B = Body part

His favorite part of you in your chest, loves jizzing on there. And your thighs, likes cumming on there too!! :3 his favorite part of himself are his arms, he can just wrap them around you and rail you relentlessly :3

C = Cum

He loves cumming in you (BREEDING KINK :0), on your chest, and oh boy does he love watching it drip from you just to push it back into you!! :3 he also makes sure you cum first, such a gentleman huh?

D = Dirty secret

Wants to get you pregnant, so badly. Poor baby has a breeding kink. Also wants to have a threesome with you, definitely not with axl... he's too cocky, maybe Duff, Slash, or Izzy?

E = Experience

Good boy knows what he's doing, makes sure you're having a good time, and hes havin' a good time :3

F = Favorite position

Definitely like the spilling bamboo, or mating press because then he can just pin you down and breed you :3

G = goofy

He's prob a little giggly if he's drunk, but if it's baby making he's not giggling but definitely making alot of noise. (Such a noisy boy)

H = Hair

He's pretty hair, mean just look:

Hairy boy means hairy private. Drapes match the carpet, maybe a little bit darker. But he understands if you want him to shave, he's just a lil lazy :P

I = Intimacy

He can be rough and fast, soft and fast, rough and slow. Anyway you want it (THATS THE WAY YOU NEED IT‼️), *cough.* Anyway. Whatever you want, he'll give you <3

J = Jack off

Since poor Steven is on tour quite a bit, he does tend to jerk off a lot, especially on call with you (if you dont go with him). He likes watching you jerk him off sometimes— but why jerk off when you're there?

K = kink

He has a major, a big breeding kink. He has has a little bit of a degrading kink, just a little. But loves watching you cry from pleasure, and squirm around <3 also lives being praised??

L = Location

He's scared of doing anything in public, poor boy doesn't want to get caught. He loves bending you over anywhere at home though! The sofa, bed, counter tops, ECT.

M = Motivation

Tight or small clothes (definitely gets a boner in public/in general if he sees you in a dress or skirt), you teasing him, small things can get him bricked up.

N = No

Will not hurt you, if it's like a playful slap to the butt then yeah obviously. But if you want him to flow blown hurt you super bad. No, absolutely not. Also other icky bodily fluids, nope.

O = Oral

He loves receiving head, and giving. Prefers receiving, but will give you head :3 he's also pretty good at it.

P = Pace

Poor boy doesn't last that long, he gets really tired easily. Maybe two rounds on a super good day, three is too many.

Q = Quickie

Hates quickies, prefers taking his time with you :3

R = Risk

It depends on what new thing y'all trying.

S = Stamina

Poor boy gets tired easily and can't last that long, but he tries for you, usually fails.

T = Toys

Has a few toys for you like vibrators, teases the fuck out of you with it.

U = Unfair

He's pretty fair with you, if you're getting punished he's all about being unfair. But if he's in a submissive state, all whiny n stuff. He hates being teased.

V = Volume

When he's dominating you he grunts and groans, rather loudly too. Almost like an animalistic growling. When he's submissive he's such a whiny boy, and he whimpers.

W = Wild card

Likes his hair being tugged at, weather he's dominating you or he's a submissive good boy :3

X = X-ray

Alrighty. He's probably got a good 5-6 inches? Nice thick-ish tip, is thicker at the base and gets slightly thinner. His tip is a little lighter than the rest of him, and it's like a jungle down there. Large happy trail, drapes match the carpet, maybe a little darker.

Y = Yearning

He can't go that long, 1 or 2 rounds.

Z = Zzzz

Depends on how many rounds y'all did. He falls asleep super quick if it's been 2 or 3 rounds, but if it was only 1 he takes care of you then sleeps.

============================

SORRY FOR NOT POSTING RECENTLYYYYY

[vinestaffery]

hello!! if u can write illumina … can u pls write some general dating hcs? if u cant i completely understand :-) (if ur reqs are closed IM SO SORRY HHHH)

hihi!! thankyou so much for requesting :3 of course ill write these for you, i absolutely love headcanons because it doesnt run me dry quite quickly when it comes to writing oneshots!!! i hope these were good enough and i hope i was somewhat able to catch illumina's personality!!

ILLUMINA GENERAL DATING HCS

Illumina tends to lose track of time, like a lot. Sometimes, he doesn't even realize that you need to be sleeping and he would just love to spend time with you. He can't comprehend the fact of time itself; Day time and Night time are like hallucinations to him. If you were to correct him on such, he would utterly avoid any points you make or make counters, such as him tossing you around and ignoring each time you try to demand being let go. He absolutely loves how you get so mad at him for such a silly little thing!

He is very bird-like, and you can tell by his very bird-like notions. Sometimes he'll accidentally knock into glass-sliding doors and be completely confused. What do you mean there was glass infront of him? There's nothing there! Sometimes, you might even catch his cleaning his feathers at his favourite past-time. He used to get really grouchy about, in which you understood. At the start of your guys relationship, he was quite private, especially taking care of his wings. Now, he's completely fine with you doing so, sometimes even asking you to help.

He'd get really overprotective with you sometimes when you get to meet new people. He likes to let people know you are his. He is not willing to trade for anything about you, and you notice this a lot. Sometimes he'll wrap his arms around you, his wings slowly rising beside him and you and his chin relaxing on your head. He likes to humilate the other while embarrassing you, stating how much you and him are together, flaunting it in others faces. You set some boundaries around this and he followed, but he still likes to let his presence be known or noticed.

Because of your involvement with Illumina, and being his soon-to-be-engagement partner (I tried my hardest to make this as inclusive as possible I am so sorry), you were mostly greeted with gifts from many other deities. Deities such as Windforce, Venomshank, and even Firebrand and his two sons(?). They'll deliver care-packages to display their gratitude and that your always welcome under their care, even though Illumina is someone that they don't really connect well with.

Cuddling with him is one of your favourite things, mostly because you have the ability to embarrass him. Even though he's 7'0", you always big-spoon him. He'd always try his hardest to be the big-spoon, but in the end, he loved the attention you'd give him as he finally gets that big ol' sleep.

He is a horrible cook, but that's okay. Sometimes, it'd be hilarious bakings and dinners, and sometimes near-death from the house burning down. I promise you he doesn't mean it!! But he'll struggle so badly to impress you, which he always successes. You always tend to help him, in which he tries his hardest to shoo you away!! But in the end, the help is always met with great gratitude, cuddles and affection.

Illumina struggles with affection, I'm not kidding. Being unaware of his own presence and being someone so cruel to others, only to fall for someone like you? He struggles. He never had been this affectionate, on both giving and recieving side, but he's always keen to try. When he tried to figure out more, he asked Ghostwalker, someone he knew he couldn't go back to but he needed major help. Sure, they both broke off, but he was willing to try anything. Ghostwalker found it strange, dangerous but was somewhat grateful that Illumina was willing to change. In the end, Illumina came home and was in the most affectionate mood, taking care of you and also, forgetting to check up on dinner in the oven.

He does give you nicknames, but isn't too keen on big major ones. The ones he use the most is, 'My Angel', 'Princess', 'My starlight', or any other cheesy name that he can give you. He varies much and listens into other nicknames he can give you.

[foreverlogical]

How is this changed if the actions taken by Musk caused the deaths of soldiers in the alliance America is part of? And how is this changed if after having calls with Vladimir Putin, Musk starts advocating publicly for Ukrainian surrender? And what if he is making money off this? 

And what do we do with the reports that Musk privately acknowledged that he was “in” the Russia-Ukraine War—but not, per the evidence we currently have, on the same side as America?

Is there some reason the House GOP is scared to investigate this? Or DOJ? What am I missing here? 

How is all this inflected by the data confirming Musk complies with the demands of hostile foreign governments at a far higher rate than his Twitter predecessors did? And how is that inflected by the fact that his Twitter coowners are autocratic Saudi butchers allied with Russia? 

And in the midst of all this he comes out publicly and tells 150 million followers to vote Republican? At a time we know both the Russians and the Saudis have secretly interfered in American elections on behalf of the Republicans? And then he starts making all sorts of changes... 

...to what is more or less a public utility (even if it is privately owned) that benefit hostile foreign governments, agents of hostile foreign governments, American disinformation agents operating as “useful idiots” for hostile foreign governments, and anti-American Kremlinists? 

And as I recall, didn’t he at one point threaten to stop providing resources to the American government that he’d previously provided *while* he was simultaneously advocating for a Ukrainian surrender following multiple phone calls with Vladimir Putin? Like—that seems really bad? 

Again, I’m not an expert in this, but I’m asking at what point Musk runs afoul of FARA? Or the Logan Act? Or something rather more serious that relates to military conflicts in which the United States is involved? All of this seems really serious to me and everyone’s ignoring it. 

America just went through an eight-year period in which a narcissistic sociopathic far-right White male billionaire colluded with Russia and the Saudis to interfere in our elections and advance illegal Russian adventurism. Is it just me or is the exact same thing happening again? 

(PS) Obviously I’m leaving a ton of things out here, e.g. the fact that Musk, like Trump, has repeatedly been accused of fraud, or that Kremlin policy inside the U.S. is to foment racial and religious divisions to weaken America... and Musk has been doing exactly that on Twitter. 

(PS2) Are we sure we’re not in the middle of a national security situation here? Is it wrong to think the Senate Intel Committee should be holding hearings to find out what Musk has been doing secretly with the Russians—and whether or how it’s connected to Twitter and the Saudis? 

(PS3) If Elon Musk will do the bidding of Vladimir Putin in terms of disabling Ukrainian military equipment and proposing that Ukraine surrender a good portion of its land area to Putin and his war criminals, what *else* is he doing at the bidding of the Kremlin or Saudi royals? 

(PS4) When we see Musk simultaneously pushing the “Ban the ADL” hashtag even as hostile foreign agents intending to cause chaos in the U.S. are doing the same thing, and we know who Musk is holding secret calls with... uh, isn’t that all super concerning from a NatSec standpoint? 

(PS5) And not for nothing, but many of you will remember the major media report I just posted in which Musk confesses that he wants to “take over the world’s financial system.”

Uh, for whom? Will he seek to benefit Russia and Saudi Arabia and harm the United States in that, too? 

(PS6) Remember how Trump led with racism and antisemitism and other forms of ethnic and religious bigotry that caused *chaos* in the United States, only for us to learn he was in cahoots with Russia and the Saudis?

Does that not feel... familiar, now?

I have some concerns here. 

(PS7) I’ve never claimed to be an expert in these particular areas, which are a subspecialization within federal criminal practice that very rarely comes into play. But I certainly—as a citizen and voter—am wondering why the *hell* we’re not having congressional hearings on this? 

(PS8) There’s no question whatsoever that Congress has an obligation to exercise its oversight responsibilities very aggressively here—as if I’m understanding correctly Elon Musk has a defense contract. The revelations in the new book about him are therefore very f*cking serious. 

(PS9) And remember how Trump always accuses others of what he has just done or is about to do? Just as concerns that Musk could be doing the bidding of hostile foreign nations arise, he starts threatening to sue others for “controlled speech.” We have seen this playbook before...

(PS10) I would think the FBI, DOJ, FTC, FCC, NSA, SEC and *many* others would want to be all over this situation right now. Instead we are getting radio silence. Or, not radio silence, but Musk and his allies pushing racial and religious division inside the U.S. on a daily basis. 

[midwestbramble]

Foraging in Witchcraft

I'm a big fan of working with the land, and one of the easiest ways to do so is by gathering your own plants. This is also free! No having to stop at an occult/metaphysical shop to pick up that random plant you forgot you needed. I will be making individual posts on different plants that can be foraged in my own bioregion, but first we should go over a few tips and housekeeping notes about foraging and witchcraft.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Contents:

Natural Isn't Always Safe

Laws and Foraging

Invasive vs. Native vs. Naturalized

Animistic Foraging

Conclusion

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Natural Isn't Always Safe

First thing I want to get out of the way is that not everything you find outside is going to be safe to put in your body or even touch. On top of that, not everything that is safe for someone else is going to be safe for you. We each have different bodies and how we react to something will not always be the same. When you first start foraging, it's important to have a guide book that will tell you of any safety measures to take when dealing with a plant. Some will interact with medications in ways that are not healthy, some have fluid that can make your skin photosensitive, and some... some people are just allergic to.

When it comes to medications, you can find contraindications (when not to ingest something) with a quick google search of "[plant name] contraindications." Generally this will give you a safe answer, however always check with your doctor if you are unsure. Better to pay for a consultation than a hospital visit.

Some risks come from the environment that the plant grew in. If you are foraging near train tracks or buildings that could leach lead into the soil, the plants will pick that up as well. Contaminated soil and pesticides sprayed onto the plants can also lead to health risks. Be very mindful of where you are foraging.

Some plants that are safe will also have toxic look-alikes. A famous look-alike is wild carrot and poison hemlock (thank you Oregon Trail video game). Unless you know what characteristics you are looking for, it's very easy to confuse the two plants. One is a delicious snack, while the other is highly toxic (the poison hemlock), to the point of causing muscle death and kidney failure. This isn't to scare you away from foraging. Only to drive home the importance of making sure you know what you are gathering.

*credit to the Minnesota Department of Agriculture

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Laws and Foraging

I am a resident of the United States so these will be more geared towards that country. It would be to your benefit to look into the foraging laws of your own country/state anyway, as it can still differ. The majority of states in America prohibit foraging on public lands, which makes it really hard for those who don't own their own property. If you live in Alaska and Hawaii, however, congratulations your local government allows it. Even among those states that do allow it, there can be designated areas where it's not allowed such as a nature preserve. Breaking these laws tends to come with a hefty fine and possible jail time, if caught. Though these laws are hard to find with a quick google search, especially for a specific area.

The laws in the United States prohibiting foraging are generally colonial, imperial, classist, and racist (surprise, surprise). Foraging was protected by law well into the 1800s (except for Native Americans who were pushed off their ancestral hunting and gathering grounds), even when doing so on another person's private property. After the Civil War, many newly-freed African-Americans would sell their foraged and hunted goods for an income, while also using the practice to become self-sufficient. The southern plantation owners needed this system to go away so they could chain what used to be their "property" to their old line of enslaved work. Starting with criminal trespass laws. Eventually anti-foraging laws spread to the average white rural American. Outside elites began to believe that the "backwards" people of the countryside, who made a subsistence living off the practice of foraging, fishing and hunting, could not be trusted with the stewardship of the land; using "conservation" as a way to "protect" it from the people who lived there (Linnekin, "Food Law Gone Wild: The Law of Foraging" p.1008-1014).

I do believe we need to protect our resources and lands. However, foraging can be regulated, not outright outlawed as it is. Learning about the plants and animals that live around us and can help us in our lives, leads us to learn more deeply about their role in the environment and just WHY we should protect them...

All this to say, look into your local foraging laws (and how local law enforcement actually enforces them, if they do at all) and then you can decide if you want to follow them or not. At your own risk.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Invasive vs. Native vs. Naturalized

There is a lot of talk in foraging communities about invasives vs. natives. Sometimes even bringing in naturalized plants. So let's talk a little bit about what these words mean in ecology and how this may effect your foraging habits.

Invasive and naturalized plants have one thing in common; they are both transplanted outside their natural ecosystem. A plant that is invasive in one place, can be naturalized in another. What matters is the impact the plant has on the ecosystem it has been transplanted into.

Invasive =  plants or animals that harm regional ecosystems.

Naturalized = plants that have successfully established and reproduced in a new environment, integrating into their new home without inflicting ecological harm.

To make things a bit more complicated, let's introduce the 10% rule. According to the Huron River Watershed Council, "the '10% rule' postulates that of all species introduced to a region outside of their native range, only 10% will survive to reproduce in their adopted environment. This 10% of non-native survivors are often called 'naturalized' plants. Of that 10%, another 10% (or 1% of the original non-native transplants) may thrive to such an extent that they dominant their new home, out competing their native neighbors. These prolific competitors are known as invasive species."

So what makes a native plant? The US Forest Service defines a native plant as "plants [that] are indigenous terrestrial and aquatic species that have evolved and occur naturally in a particular region, ecosystem, and habitat. Species native to North America are generally recognized as those occurring on the continent prior to European settlement."

Some native species can be endangered due to habitat loss from agriculture and/or competing invasive species. It's good to have a list (many state DNR (Department of Natural Resources) will have a list available on their website) printed so you know which ones should be cultivated in your garden if you wish to work with them. Avoiding these and working with invasive species can help with conservation efforts as well. Native species can still be worked with in the wild if they are not endangered.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Animistic Foraging

You'll often see witches giving advice about asking the plants permission before harvesting. This is from the belief that the plant has a spirit, an animistic belief. Asking permission to harvest isn't the only way we can forage mindfully and with respect to the plant. The way that I do this is by following the Honorable Harvest set out by Robin Wall Kimmerer (a Potawatomi botanist, and the director of the Center for Native Peoples and the Environment at the State University of New York College of Environmental Science and Forestry) in her book "Braiding Sweetgrass."

Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so you may take care of them.

Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.

Ask permission before taking and abide by the answer.

Never take the first, never take the last.

Take only what you need.

Take only what is given.

Never take more than half. Leave some for others.

Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.

Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.

Share.

Give thanks for what you have been given.

Give a gift in reciprocity for what you have been given.

Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.

The first rule really helps you to follow the rest of them. Know the plant. Walk by it several times, offer water even if you aren't taking something, say hello. These plants are our neighbors and when we harvest we are asking for their help.

⸙༄𓆤𓆩𓆪❁𓇢𓆸🏵

Conclusion

Each plant will have it's own method of harvest to minimize the harm done to it. Some you have to pull the whole thing up, but there are ways to repopulate it. It's so individual that I couldn't add it to this post. Hopefully what's written here can help you keep a few things in mind when going out and learning about your local flora.

Foraging can be a great way to connect with your land and learn about it. Getting your hands dirty and making you feel as if you are a part of the landscape. Hopefully the first couple of sections didn't scare you off. Get a couple of good guidebooks for your region (the local library is a good place to start) and you're good to get out there and start identifying plants you want to work with!

[tearwolfe]

after doing some mixing and matching, i've figured out a full cast for the monster detective AU! minus virtual singers, because i still need to figure out what to do with them. i might make them evil...

this is a world where magic and monsters exist, however, people are very hush-hush about it. monsters that go bump in the night is more of a scary story parents use to get their kids to go to bed early..

major roles in this story are detectives, monsters (mostly the shape-shifting kind like tsukasa), magicians, monster protectors, demons, and our primary antagonists! well, the state of their antagonist roles might change later on. i don't really have a chronological story for these guys, it's moreso just a world i can play with whenever i want!

since it's long, i've written everything under the read more!

note: rui is a private investigator and tsukasa is his monster sidekick. if you need an explanation on them, you can find everything in this post.

akito & an — another detective duo. these two used to work alongside rui, however rui split away from them due to differences in work ethic. also, akito and rui are exes. take what you will with that.

on occassion, they will have to work with rui (and tsukasa).

emu & nene — emu comes from a long line of magicians. she is talented in magic and uses it to put on performances at theaters around town, a large one of which her family owns. nene, a friend of rui's, befriends her and begins learning magic from her.

magic isn't a known thing in this world, however, nene learns of its existence through rui's strange encounters. thus, she suspected the use of magic in emu's shows (herself knowing how certain tricks are supposed to work).

now, nene works alongside emu as her magician's assistant in shows. with both of their knowledge of magic, though, they've been known to assist rui with cases.

mizuki & ena — mizuki is a phantom thief, operating during the night to steal riches from wealthy individuals and institutions. ena is an artist and helps mizuki, keeping their identity a secret, even from her detective brother. the two live together.

mizuki and rui were formerly friends, but rui was never aware of their thievery. though, at the time, it was on a much smaller scale.

although they are not very skilled at magic, the two have managed to accomplish some amount of dark magic.

these two are the primary antagonists.

kohane & toya — both are monsters with similar transformative abilities to tsukasa. kohane's transformation resembles a hamster, meanwhile toya's is more akin to a cat.

toya and akito were once friends during their youth (though akito was not aware of toya's status as a monster, he just thought he had a weird sense of style). a crackdown on monster inhabitants in the town caused toya to leave for a long while, never giving akito any answers. during this time he befriends kohane. the two eventually meet akito and an in the current timeline, after tsukasa and rui become a team.

honami & shiho — both girls are shapeshifting monsters. alongside saki, the two of them live with ichika.

ichika & saki — saki is a monster like her brother. however, her transformation is much more powerful than the other shapeshifters. this leaves her often fatigued. unlike the others, she does not need a hat to kick off the transformation. ichika is a monster protector under the guise of an investigator. she keeps an eye on her girlfriends and other monsters in the area.

haruka and ichika often find themselves working together, so they are good friends.

mafuyu & kanade — these two are demons summoned to assist mizuki and ena's malevolent deeds. despite her status as a demon, kanade is actually very nice and refuses to harm people or other monsters.

ena and mizuki have become considerably close with them.

haruka & minori — much like ichika, haruka is a monster protector who disguises herself as an investigator. minori is a monster that she saved from a hunter, and now has vowed to stick by haruka's side and help other monsters.

shizuku & airi — airi is a talented magician who became friends with another magician, shizuku, during her studies. she later learns that shizuku is actually a monster who was able to use a mirage to disguise herself.

finding empathy in shizuku's position, airi agrees to team up with her to help make the world a better place for monsters. the two later join haruka and minori.